Macbeth Act VI
by PaperclipOptimizer
Summary: The sixth act briefly explores Malcolm's perspective, revealing that he, too, received a prophesy from the Weird Sisters.


_**Setting: Scotland; the depths of Gehenna**_

Macbeth: Act VI

_**Scene i. Malcolm's bedroom; 30 years after the events of Act V**_

[MALCOLM_'s eyes are locked upon the trophy skull of Macbeth mounted upon the wall opposite his bed. His gaze meets the empty orbitals of the treacherous former-king, and his mind appears to drift to the vernal bloom of his youth_.]

_**Scene ii. A weathered road bisecting an open field; 30 years previous**_

[_Bright day. _MALCOLM_ rides a horse in the direction of Forres_. _Enter _YOUNG LADY_, beautiful, and festooned in a white gown. She playfully looks at _MALCOLM_, giggles, then flees._]

MALCOLM: Hark! Maiden! Whither and wherefore dost thou fly?

[YOUNG LADY _halts, and giggles once more. Wordlessly, she retreats. _MALCOLM _pursues._]

MALCOLM: Name thyself! Mine eyen hath not yet witnessed radiance unto thee but in the faces of God's angels.

[MALCOLM _continues his chase. The scenery shifts from clarion fields to tenebrous forest. As the skies darken beneath the impenetrable canopy, a waterfall appears in the distance. The spritely maiden pauses before the roaring aqueous maw, then darts across the watery threshold. _MALCOLM _follows, but finds only a solid rock face. A jolt! as his soul is ripped from his carcass and transported to the conflagrant brink of Acheron._]

_**Scene iii. Hell, on the shores of Acheron**_

[_The _YOUNG LADY _rises from the turbulent riverbed; her form at once cleaved into _THREE CLOAKED WITCHES_, abandoning her conjured husk to the raging banks below_.]

MALCOLM: Deceivers! Whence hast thou excised my internality, and where hath it landed? For what foul purpose dost thou employ me?

FIRST WITCH: At Acheron, thou findst thy prize, for thy virtues please the Devil's eyes.

MALCOLM; What prize could thy hideousness conceal? Only warts upon pustules inhabit the unmapped territory beneath the dull cloaks set upon thee.

SECOND WITCH: A prophesy of riches earned; compendiums of fate discerned. The acorn shifts into black oak, when in Norway's blood, the king doth soak.

THIRD WITCH: Cawdor's lord will rise anew, but in his thoughts, ambitions stew. His hands are dipped in regal sable, but in the halls of spring, Scotland lies stable.

MALCOLM: Settle your tongues, Satan's servants! You speak in obtusities; each word disguising a veracious dagger. Such is the nature of the Devil's gifts: a flame which warms thy paw, but singes thy flesh once met.

FIRST WITCH: Listen!

SECOND WITCH: Listen!

THIRD WITCH: Listen!

MALCOM: But I-

ALL: Listen!

MALCOLM: Very well. I shall hear it.

FIRST WITCH: The light will stir thee from thy rest into the care of a lion's breast. Five times denies the king's envoy, before Scotland receives its boy.

SECOND WITCH: Just as Norway's end heralds rebirth, the serpent's death begets royal dearth. Scepter placed into thy grasp, but first must sleep that fearsome asp.

THIRD WITCH: Fifth and final, last of these-

MALCOLM: No more! I am sated, nay, nearly to burst. My heart rejects your temptations, and your vile prosody disrupts my belly. I hear no more!

[MALCOLM _slashes toward the three witches, but fails to connect as he is once again transported to the waterfall. The inflicted daze overtakes him, and he faints._]

_**Scene iv. Malcolm's bedroom; present**_

[_Enter _MALCOLM. _He stands alone on the stage_.]

MALCOLM: A score and ten the specter of these turpid portents haunts me as each utterance affirms its duplicitous candor. Alas! But for the deleterious swaddle of Azrael's atramental shawl, our dire sphere can offer no greater threat than curiosity unresolved - that ceaseless impetus - chattering teeth and tongue whose whispers shred the golden fabric of propitiation. Mine ardor withers; my sanity deliquescent, upsetting my humors to raze my divinely granted temple. What defiled air could be carried on the winds of their words? Abstractions born as constructs which ravage the treasured hallows of my mind! Oh woe, but the corruption is victor! My body fails! Dear Fleance, dear Scots, ye whom I do love! Your king is no more!

[MALCOLM _dies_.]

_**Scene v. The throne room**_

[_Fleance stands before the Regent and Scotland's patrons, grieved but resolute. His coronation is nearly complete_.]

REGENT: Most noble babe of Banquo, I bestow unto thee all duties to Scotland, to rule justly and equianimously, as did he before thee. With benedictions, thou rul'st hereon.

CROWD OF PATRONS: All hail, Fleance, king of Scots!

[FLEANCE _nods graciously, demonstrating a humility most becoming of royalty. He sits upon his throne, and the _CROWD _is dismissed_.]

FLEANCE: [_Aside_] So it seems those pockmarked demons spake candidly, for Malcolm rests with the Lord, and his crown rests upon my brow. Mayhaps their forecasts will further prove tenable…

[FLEANCE _appears deep in contemplation, portending a continuation of the witches' curse. End._]


End file.
